Chapter 4
four
. . .
Wonder
Seventeen years ago
desiree
thirteen years old
Turns out that Taven had a girlfriend, if you could even call it that at that age. Evelyn was her name. She was a pretty redhead that seemed to have a permanent place in Taven’s young heart, and in his phone by way of countless photos and selfies.
We attended different schools, Taven and I, but in the early weeks of eighth grade, our parents had thrown us together as a consequence of their newfound business partnership. My parents were money-driven entrepreneurs, through and through. They had a handful of medi-spa clinics, and Taven’s parents were some sort of investors with an empire of their own.
My mother, of course, was the one to explain to me the significance of this partnership. “Your father made an excellent contact with the Carlisles, Dezzie. The Carlisles are worth millions, maybe more. ”
We’d been shopping for clothes, which no longer meant scouring through racks under unflattering fluorescent lights. Now, shopping with my mother meant sitting with champagne on a pink velvet sofa under soft lighting that made her look ten years younger as overly friendly sales assistants brought us armfuls of garments, each softer and shinier than the last.
I stepped out of the dressing room in yet another tiny dress, this a deep espresso with a subtle iridescence. It barely covered my butt. “So?” I asked.
My mother grinned. “A bit short, but I love it.”
I rolled my eyes. “No, I mean why is the Carlisle’s bank account something I should think about?” I looked in the mirror, noting with some bloom of hope that the dress did in fact give me a little shape. “I don’t care about money.”
My mom sighed and stood before me, smoothing down the flyaways of my hair before examining the sight of me in the mirror. “That’s easy to say at your age.”
I nodded, a feeling of guilt creeping in. I didn’t want to seem ungrateful. I just didn’t understand what she was getting at.
“Look, Dezzie,” my mother said, spinning me by the shoulders to face her. I saw something in her blue eyes. Sadness, perhaps. “It just means that the Carlisles are people to keep close to us. You’ll be seeing a lot more of them. It’s for the business, sweetie.”
“Right.”
“You know,” she said, her eyes shining with an idea. I already dreaded what that might be. “You don’t have a date for your dance.”
I stepped backward. “It’s not that kind of dance, Mom.”
She waved my explanation away. “I was thinking maybe you could ask Taven.”
“He has a girlfriend,” I admitted, despite the pain it caused to say it out loud.
She let out a sharp laugh as she looked past me to admire herself in the mirror. “He’s thirteen. It’s not a girlfriend. ”
“Actually, he’s fourteen,” I argued.
That caught her interest. She raised an eyebrow at me, then turned me around to face the mirror. “So you guys have been talking?” I watched in the reflection as the corners of her mouth lifted. She nodded. “Good, that’s good. Just be careful. We can’t have any adolescent drama, you understand that, right?”
I nodded and fought the urge to confess that she didn’t need to worry, because Taven and I hadn’t really been talking. I just paid attention to things. Overheard Taven’s mom share a few vital tidbits about her son that I clung to, as if knowing about him would make me closer to him.
I turned away from the mirror and faced my mother, an older version of myself with her pale hair and eyes. “I like this one,” I conceded. “I think I’ll take it.”
“Perfect,” she agreed.
My mom, against my will, would later ask Taven’s mom, Lynda, if he was available to accompany me to my dance. Turns out he was busy. I ended up not even going, being the new girl and having no real friends to speak of, much to my parents’ dismay. The espresso dress hung abandoned in my closet, tags swaying like dropped flags at half-mast.
Our weekends with the Carlisles quickly became a regular thing. It was sailing on the Carlisle yacht, an introduction to their fancy club, followed by lazy dinners of champagne (for the adults), and sparkling water for the kids (yuck, though I would politely pretend I loved it. By the end of September, when tired and parched from the sun ripping the moisture right out of my skin, my brain learned to associate the tingle of bubbles with reprieve from dehydration).
I used the forced social occasions as an opportunity to stare shamelessly at the beautiful boy that was Taven Carlisle. He would attempt to talk to me, but I could barely utter a cohesive sentence to him. I could probably count the number of words I actually spoke to him out loud, but it didn’t matter. Being in his presence felt like enough. I was happy just listening to him, or watching him interact with other people, allowing myself to daydream and wonder what being in his inner circle might feel like.
We slipped into the cooler weather of fall, and on Halloween, my parents insisted that we get dolled up in coordinating family costumes. (Dylan, with his quick new group of friends, was not required to attend.) My mother was all extravagance in a faux fur coat accompanied by a slim black cigarette holder, dressed as Cruella de Vil. My father was her henchman wearing a newsboy hat, and I was dressed as a “cute” Dalmatian. I know, awful, right? We attended the famous Carlisle costume party, and Taven had grabbed my arm to pull me away and slip us up to his room (his own apartment, really). His touch felt like a gift.
I cautiously stepped in, looking down at my white polka-dot tights, the matching micro tutu and bodysuit, feeling like an idiot.
Taven wore a grim reaper costume, and he pulled down his hood and settled his scythe next to the door before closing it.
I took in the sight around me. The queen-sized sleigh bed, the dark gray walls, the mini-living room area with a futon, bean bag chairs facing a massive TV.
“Cute costume, by the way,” he said, his eyes scanning me up and down.
My cheeks heated and I ripped the puppy ears headband off my head, tossing it on his bed. “Thanks.”
“Just…make yourself comfortable. Have a seat.”
“Okay.”
“Guessing you didn’t really wanna hang out down there, right?”
I glanced up at him through my tinsel faux lashes. He was grinning at me and my stomach did a flip. I was nervous in his presence, and his smile wasn’t helping. “Not really.”
Taven nodded and plopped himself on a bean bag. “Didn’t think so. You like Gears of War?”
“Sure,” I lied. It was a video game I knew, but had only ever played it a couple times with Dylan. I internally committed to making it my new favorite game.
We played in silence for a while, him wrestling with his controller, me slipping off my shoes and sitting cross-legged in the other bean bag, getting more and more into the graphic action of the game and feeling less sweaty-palmed and anxious. I was grateful for the distraction, and to finally have a chance alone with Taven, not under the watchful eyes of our parents where I felt permanently stuck in the role of baby of the family. Maybe here now, I could just be me. I could create a dazzling display of the fabulous cool girl I desperately wanted to be.
At some point, he paused the game, the screen frozen in a frenzy of pixelated action. He typed something into his phone, and the next thing you know a suited staff member came knocking on the bedroom door, a silver tray of snacks in his gloved palms. I half expected to hear “Master Carlisle” escape the guy’s mouth, but I was relieved when he gave a quick nod, saying, “Your requested snacks, Taven.” The man nodded toward me. “Desiree Hatson, right?”
I nodded and said, “Hi,” confused how he knew my name.
Taven grabbed the tray from the man. “Desiree, this is Alfred.”
“Alfred?”
Taven chuckled. “Kidding.”
“Oh,” was all I said.
Taven placed the tray down, explaining, “It’s a Batman reference. Alfred the butler?”
Not-Alfred shook his head, smiling. “You think you’re so funny. I’m Mike,” he said, turning to me. “I work for the Carlisles.”
I nodded, hopelessly confused and wishing I could think of something funny to say in return. Instead, I settled on, “Oh, okay. It’s…it’s nice to meet you, Mike.” Was I supposed to shake his hand? Is that the thing to do with the help? I had no idea.
Mike gave me a mock salute. “Anything you need when you’re here, just say the word.” Then he turned on his heels and disappeared through the doorway, pulling the door closed behind him with a click.
Taven and I settled back down onto our beanbags, the coffee table in front of us serving as our dining spot. He handed me a small plate, piling it with some kind of spring rolls and sauce. I hesitated before taking it. I dreaded the idea of eating in front of him and making a fool of myself, but I told myself to get over it.
“There you have it,” he said, shoving half a spring roll in his mouth and grinning, looking adorable. “Guess you’re part of the family now.”
Taven and I eventually settled into an easy rhythm whenever there were gatherings at the Carlisle Manor, as I had come to call it. If it wasn’t video games, then we’d talk about movies or books, or hang out with a couple of his other friends he was allowed to invite over. On nights when the universe wanted to remind me that Taven’s heart belonged to someone else, I’d get to pop in and say hi to the famous Evelyn, mystery girl, as I listened to him talk to her on video chats. She seemed sweet and a little quiet, a shinier and prettier version of me, but I guess she went to some boarding school and they didn’t get to see each other all that often.
Yes, her being geographically far away absolutely made me happy.
My crush on Taven pretty quickly catapulted itself into the depths of obsession. I was a goner.
As a crush develops, you get to that point of deciding you need to make this work, make him truly see you. If to crush means to compress, then a developing crush means squeezing the hell out of any opportunity to get to know as much as possible about the person.
I was obsessed with this mission. I loved when he shared little reveals with me, like how his parents grounded him for playing video games past 8pm and how annoyed he was with them. I’d roll my eyes in joint frustration, as if my parents were just as strict, even though they definitely were not. I needed to know what Taven Carlisle liked, what made him angry, what he found funny. It was like I was stocking up my own personal filing cabinet in my brain of all the information on him that I could, convinced that if I could just crack this code and get to know him in and out, then I’d be able to morph into exactly what he wanted. He’d magically realize that his dream girl—me!—was sitting right here in front of him. I could then ensure that any time we hung out, I checked every box of perfection so that I’d leave his room and he’d instantly be filled with regret, and he would, beyond his control, run after me, take me in his arms and demand to know where I had been all his life.
When you set your mind to something, it’s pretty difficult to turn it off, no matter how badly you want to. No matter how badly you wish you could quell your ridiculous obsession, and just enjoy your time with him as it was.
That’s not how it happened for me.
Instead, it was me stealing glances at him whenever I could, his permanently immaculate haircut sending me spiraling in a sea of admiration. I’d quickly look away whenever he caught me. Rather than have the initial pull of my crush subside as I got to know Taven better, got to see him as more of a three-dimensional human being with flaws, I instead found that my adoration for him only grew stronger. I found the messiness of his room fabulously laid back. Found the way he loudly barked out a laugh at movie lines—some barely even funny—adorably positive.
Sometimes his older sister, Jacqui, would join us, and watching the two of them made me like him even more. She was older than us by two years, but as Taven’s body was rapidly morphing, he was already a couple inches taller than her. He had a clear protective nature when it came to his sister, calling the guy she was dumped by a “dick” and offering to kick his ass if she wanted him to. Or if she rushed into his bedroom, needing anything whatsoever, help with finding something or an opinion on an outfit, he’d happily oblige. His brotherly nature was not combative like some siblings can be, but more like the way Dylan was toward me. I’d often have to remind myself that Taven was the younger sibling, not the other way around.
I liked his sister. Jacqui was bubbly and quirky, and had matching dark hair, like her brother’s, but with caramel streaks. At sixteen, her body was already a womanly figure, something I envied, but she didn’t seem to know her own beauty. It made me less intimidated, which was good because I was committed to being her friend too, making sure I was extra sweet with her, exaggerating my own interest in anything she had to say just as another way to get in closer. Taven was going to see how wonderful I was, it was just a matter of time, I told myself. I wanted it so badly it hurt.
He was easy to talk to. He knew how to side-step my awkwardness, even succeeding in pulling me more and more out of my shell. He’d share with me his struggles with school, the pressures put on by his parents, and I’d feel like I won the lottery to be on the receiving end of his confessions.
Then I’d go home and cry into my journal, begging God to tell me why I had to be born so horribly plain. Why couldn’t I be pretty and perfect and sweet like Evelyn, some phantom I had never even met in real life. I was convinced Taven was only nice to me out of necessity, thanks to our parents.
Soon came the holidays, all spent together. The Hatsons and the Carlisles, taking over the world one business conversation masked as friendship at a time.
The New Year celebration was when I knew I was really in trouble.
Some people make New Year resolutions. You know, eat less candy, be better about doing assignments on time, that kind of thing.
Taven had bigger ideas.
We were in his sister’s car when the concept was drummed up. Apparently at the Carlisle Manor, some guest wanted some particular kind of alcohol, and one of Taven’s older cousins was doing the pickup. Jacqui and her best friend had quietly excused themselves to tag along, eager to get out of the house for a minute. I was surprised when Mr. and Mrs. Carlisle didn’t object, but I guess when the champagne is flowing, our usual moral codes drop down a notch or two.
Jacqui insisted that Taven and I join as well, and I fought my nerves as the five of us squeezed into her BMW, with me in the back seat, pinched between Jacqui’s liquored-up, giggling friend and Taven. It was dark out, and with limited sense of sight, I felt a heightened sense of smell. All I could focus on was the sweetness of a fruity scent—Jacqui’s friend’s perfume was nauseating. I shifted closer to Taven, turning his way and grasping for a whiff of whatever cologne he had on.
When we pulled into the liquor store, Jacqui, her friend, and the cousin jumped out, instructing Taven and me to stay in the car. I was relieved, scared that if I went in, they’d offer me a lollipop at checkout.
The car was still jostling from the doors slamming shut when Taven turned to me. “Is it just me, or was her perfume about to make you throw up?”
I laughed with relief. “Oh my God, yes! Why do you think I was leaning to your side?”
He patted my leg, and I wished I didn’t have the added layers of my pea coat and sparkly nude tights in between his hand and my skin. “I just thought you wanted to get closer to me. ”
“Ew, you’re so gross,” I said, instantly regretting sounding so juvenile.
“Ouch, Dez. That hurts.”
“Don’t you have a girlfriend? You shouldn’t talk like that.” I pulled my lip between my teeth, proud for not flirting in return, but also knowing full well it was only because I had no skill in the art in the first place. I was almost fourteen, but still felt worlds away from being old enough to charm any guy with cute flirtation.
He pulled his hand back from my leg. “Evelyn’s in California, visiting family while on her break, remember?”
I nodded, then shifted uncomfortably in my seat. I looked around at the red leather of Jacqui’s car, wondering what kind of car Taven would opt for when he would be gifted one just before his sixteenth birthday.
He snapped his fingers, startling me. “I have an idea.”
“I’m all ears,” I said. “And a little worry.”
He grinned down at me, I could just make it out in the glow from the shopping center lights. He was dressed up in a suit beneath his coat, and all evening I had been staring at him in disbelief at how grown-up he looked. I was wearing the short espresso dress that had been abandoned from the dance I never attended, a gold bolero over top, and I had felt pretty while I was getting ready. But seeing him in his suit made me feel painfully like a little kid. I hoped my glow-up would arrive any day now.
“When we get back to the house, we’re going to come up with Bingo cards for goals we have for the New Year.”
“Bingo cards?” My mind whirled to rows of old people in a nursing home, and a guy in a top hat sitting at the front with one of those number spinner things.
“Yeah. Fun ones. We’ll fill them in, and as the year goes on and you get five in a row, you get prizes.”
“What are the prizes?”
He shifted in his seat and draped his arm on the doorframe, looking at me with a grin. “Anything we want. But here’s the catch.”
“Oh boy.”
“No, listen. It’s really good.”
“I’m sure it’s great.”
He twisted around again, facing forward. Patted my leg once more. “I fill in yours, and you can fill in mine.”
Liquor obtained and back in the safe confines of his room (though with two mini shot bottles of Fireball, given to us by Jacqui), we settled in our beanbags and got to work. Taven downed his Fireball and set out two sheets of paper, lining up a ruler and drawing out straight lines. I watched him curiously, wondering if he ever drank anything before, but I was too shy to ask.
I took the tiniest taste of my drink, surprised at the sweet cinnamon. “It’s like eating a red-hot.”
“You’ve barely even touched it, how would you know?” he teased.
“I can’t drink this, Vin. I’ll be…” I couldn’t even say the word.
“Drunk?” he offered.
“Yes!”
He shoved yet another tray full of snacks towards me, this time mini crab cakes and some sort of pastry. “Eat and you’ll be fine. Never drink on an empty stomach.”
I grabbed a crab cake and let the salty flakes crumble in my mouth, scared of what my miniscule sip might do. I already felt warm, though I knew that was absurd.
He handed me one of his freshly made Bingo cards and a pen, and told me to have at it, not to hold back. I looked down at it, this giant black grid and its crooked star right in the middle. He had written “Taven’s New Year Bingo Card” across the top, which made me smile. It seemed boyish somehow .
I went to work scribbling away the most ridiculous things I could think of. “Sky-Dive” and “Go Streaking” and “Steal a Piece of your Mom’s Jewelry—see how long she takes to notice.” I was itching to be as creative as possible, but filling out twenty-four squares proved harder than I thought it’d be.
When we finally finished, we traded papers. I looked down at mine and started laughing. “Finish my Fireball?” I squeaked. “I could do that right now.” I took another sip, almost finishing the bottle, then instantly washed it down with several gulps from my sparkling water, delivered in a champagne flute upon our arrival.
“Cheater,” he said with a kick to my foot.
I drained the rest of it and slammed the mini bottle down, crossing off my square. There. I scanned the rest of the sheet and noted his recommendations. Some were funny (Eat So Many Marshmallows You Throw Up, Barge in on Dylan and His Girlfriend, Fail a Test on Purpose). Others kind of made me sad (Make a New Friend, Say “no” to Your Parents—with attitude. Sneak Out of the House).
When we both realized we had “Go Streaking” on our cards, we laughed and made up some elaborate scheme on how and when to do it, knowing full well I’d never in a million years go along with the plan.
There was one square in particular on my card that had my mind spinning, obsessing over why he wrote it. “Share a secret.” Could it be an invitation for me to admit my crush? Was that the thought behind it? I glided my finger along the square, heart thumping as I wondered if I should say something.
“What’s on your mind, Dez?” I looked up to find him staring at me, grinning. “Got any good secrets?”
I studied his face, feeling like I was staring for too long but unable to look away. He wiggled his eyebrows at me and in that moment, I knew he was teasing me. Taunting me, even. Yet I wanted to share my secret with him, even so. Even with the rejection I knew I’d get. Sometimes our hearts like to betray us like that, humiliate us all in the name of clinging to false hope .
I pulled my eyes away from him, back down to my paper, and shook my head no.
Taven and I continued with good old-fashioned mischief that night, and it was the most fun I think I’d ever had. We snuck sips of bubbly when no one was looking, then dared each other to stand outside in the cold without jackets on for as long as we could, laughing as the clouds of our breath puffed around us. I was a ball of jittery shivers, yet my young little heart was feeling warm and flushed. I was spending time with Taven in a way that felt natural and fun. I told myself that could be enough.
When we made our way back to the party, everyone was counting down with the host on TV as the ball made its descent in Times Square. We shuffled our way to a corner off to the side, adults around us towering above, but I felt safe with Taven beside me. I looked up at him and we locked eyes, giggling and a little buzzy. He mouthed out each number in the countdown, and I was mesmerized watching his lips.
Four
Three
Two…
For a moment I thought he might kiss me.
One
But that was ridiculous. Of course he wouldn’t.
I was his accidental friend, I reminded myself. Forced upon him thanks to our parents. Yet he kept his gaze on me.
When I finally couldn’t stand the eye contact anymore, I burst into a full belly laugh, shoving his shoulder, asking him why he was looking at me all creepy like.
His lips found my cheek, and he held them there for an agonizing yet glorious moment. They were damp with champagne, yet soft and warm and sent a vibration humming through me and a flutter in my belly. “Happy New Year, Desiree Hatson,” he said as he pulled back. Something passed over his expression, and I had the urge to kiss him back, but I didn’t.
“Happy New Year, Taven Carlisle.”
I know he knew I liked him. Even I could see how obvious I was, but I couldn’t help it.
Over the course of the rest of eighth grade, Taven sprouted a thousand inches, his chest and shoulders broadening out, and I couldn’t help but fantasize about what kissing him would be like. But we remained firmly friends, nothing more.
When we weren’t thrown together at some party, we’d text all the time, about anything and everything. He’d teach me dirty words and I’d blush on the other end of the line. We played online video games together. He had become my best friend, though I tried to remind myself that it was one-sided.
I would come to regret our sharing the day Taven revealed to me that his stupid relationship with Evelyn had leveled up.
We were sitting in his bedroom, it was late May. He had already finished school, and I only had a handful of days left. Our parents had decided to run out for a drink and leave us behind, my mom singing out, “Don’t get into anything naughty, you two!” I could have killed her.
Taven looked at me, eyes shining with excitement. “I kissed Evelyn, Dez. I finally did it,” he grinned.
I arched an eyebrow his way. “Oh, yeah?”
“Yeah. Not the little kisses. This was like, the real thing. Full on make-out.”
“Ew. I did not need to hear that.” He had the courtesy to blush a little, at least. My mind whipped to an image of him cradling his girlfriend in his lap, sucking face like two lovebirds. I thought I might be sick.
I repositioned myself into my usual spot in the velvet beanbag chair, perched beside him as he sat on his futon, and I feigned excitement for him. “So you finally got the guts, huh? Took you long enough.”
He nodded, a swoosh of his dark hair flopping into his face. “Whatever. We hardly ever get to see each other. I’m so happy school’s done, this summer’s gonna be awesome.”
I nodded in return, not sure how to respond. But I was curious, I had to know. “How was the kiss? How…how did it happen?” I looked down at my phone, hoping I came across as not really interested, just a friend trying to be polite. My ears felt hot and I felt suspiciously on the verge of tears.
He stretched out his legs, clasping his hands behind his head as he stared up at the ceiling, a stupid smile on his dreamy face. “It was at her graduation party.”
“Graduation from eighth grade?” I confirmed, willing my eyes to not linger too long on him. I looked back down at my phone. Scrolled through some nail polish colors. Coral, that could be nice. Right? Nice to look cute and girly and remind Taven I’m right here .
“No, from law school,” he said, grinning down at me. I must have looked confused because he quickly added, “Kidding, Dez. Yes, from eighth grade. Some parents get really into it. Mine don’t, but some do. Haven’t you gotten any invites from kids at your school?”
That would be a no. I didn’t really have any true friends at my school, being the new girl and all. Which, by now, I guess I couldn’t really say that, could I? But I still felt it. My fancy private school had some long lines of bonds very firmly rooted, and I preferred to keep to myself. No one there understood me, I told myself. I wasn’t like them. So when my mother had suggested a graduation party for me, I had balked, knowing it would be more for my parents as an excuse to show off. Luckily, she had settled on throwing a Memorial Day bash instead.
“Kids at my school don’t really do that kind of thing,” I lied. Taven knew it was a lie, friendships from both our private schools overlapped, but he let me take the out .
“Well, anyway. It was amazing, and you’re the only person I can talk to about it.”
“Me? Why?” I twisted the fabric of my t-shirt between my fingers, both thrilled and surprised to hear him say that.
“‘Cuz you’re a girl. I can’t be an ass and talk to the guys about that kind of thing. You know, out of respect for Evelyn.”
I rolled my eyes. “Lies. You mean because all your friends already think you’ve been doing way more than that for a while now, and you can’t blow your cover.” I may not have had any tight bonds with anyone, but I wasn’t deaf. I’d hung out with Taven’s friends multiple times by then. I overheard all kinds of things, I knew how dumb guys were, bragging about doing this and that. Up until now, I might have believed them, but hearing Taven’s confession, I had a sneaking suspicion there were more fabricated stories floating around than I realized.
“Oh, shit. Fine, yeah,” he conceded. He rose up to a sitting position, resting his forearms on his knees. “Sworn secrecy?” he asked, offering his hand to seal the deal. I nodded and reached for his outstretched hand to shake. “You’re my best friend, you know. I hope you realize that, Dez.”
I nodded and replied, “You too, Vin.”
As quickly as the declaration came, though, it vanished.
Apparently kissing your girlfriend meant you had little time for anything else. With Evelyn back home for the summer, Taven would skip out on the famous Carlisle parties, and I’d be granted permission to sit them out too, staying home alone and curled up with a book. Eventually our text exchanges dwindled, his responses to me taking longer and longer to arrive, each one shorter than the last.
A month later, they stopped altogether.